


The Kitten and the Bull

by DrJLecter



Category: Mænd & høns | Men & Chicken (2015)
Genre: Almar is underage in the beginning, Almar looks like baby Hugh, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, BabyBullFest, Conflict, Developing Friendships, Elias is an idiot, Elias is special, Friendship to Love, Includes Fanart, Knight Elias, M/M, Original Male Character - Freeform, Swordfighting, Swords, but cute, but nothing happens until he's older, i love him so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrJLecter/pseuds/DrJLecter
Summary: As a squire on his way to becoming the personal blacksmith of King Gabriel, young Almar has a hard time taking care of Elias the knight, the King's brother.  Just when he was starting to wonder if this life is really what he wants, things take a catastophic turn





	The Kitten and the Bull

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing started when Camille posted one of her wonderful art pieces and wrote a looong [twitter thread](https://twitter.com/CamilleCailloux/status/847888564532719617) of her head canon about knight Elias and his squire to accompany it. (contains spoilers for this fic) She loves Elias so much, and so do I. 
> 
> The fic is basically the exact story she wrote on twitter, just a bit more detailed. Thank you Camille, from the bottom of my heart, for the wonderful art you gift us with all the time. The fandom wouldn't be the same without you.
> 
> Thank you [Kateera](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateera) for the quick and awesome beta job! All remaining mistakes are my own.

 

Almar pushed his backpack up his shoulder where it had slipped down as he stared up the high walls of the King’s castle. It was an impressive monument and for a moment he felt intimidated before he swallowed hard and made his way to the main gate, determined to make his luck.

He didn’t own much, but it was enough to find lodgings for a few nights until he found employment. Almar might be a young blacksmith, just strong enough to wield the hammer, but he knew he was one of the best out there. His old master had sent him here after he had decided there was nothing left to teach him. The old man had all the confidence that Almar would find good work soon, but his own goal was to someday serve the King himself.

After he’d found a small room in a tavern, he made his way through the village, taking note of the various blacksmiths and the works they displayed. He dismissed some of them right away as he scoffed at the subpar swords and armors they had on display.

It took him two days to find and convince one of the King’s personal blacksmiths to give him the recommendation letter he needed to get into the inner sanctum of the King’s residence. With confidence, he strode up the cobbled street, past stables and kitchens, until he heard the clear sounds of steel on steel among a loud cheering crowd. Curious now, he followed the noise.

It appeared to be one of the days King Gabriel came out to practice his sword fighting skills as a spectacle for the commoners. Almar pushed through the hollering and howling crowd, ducking under arms and past kicking legs until he could look into the circle.

It was easy to see the difference between the King and his opponent; armor shiny and glistening in the sun, sword swishing effortlessly through the air.

His opponent though was something else entirely. He was _huge_ , easily towering more than a head over the King. The bulky form grew more impressive with the metal covering his body, his helmet crowned with huge horns. The knight lifted his sword to attack, but the King easily sidestepped the obviously clumsy attempt. Hitting thin air instead of a solid body, the knight stumbled a few steps ahead, almost stabbing himself with his own sword in the process.

Almar couldn’t stop the laugh tumbling out of him at the comical sight and the whole crowd around him broke out in mocking calls and laughter.

After he’d managed to calm down his chuckling and wiped his moist eyes, Almar looked to a young man next to him. “Who is that and how did he ever become a knight?!”

There was a grin on his face as he turned towards Almar. “You’re new around here then? That is Elias. He’s the King’s brother. He’s a disfigured and dumb monster. Not even princesses from other kingdoms want to marry him so he’s stuck here and his only purpose is to amuse the King when he gets bored.”

Laughter made them turn their heads back to where Elias had just ended up on his knees in the dirt, scrambling after the sword he’d somehow lost.  Almar had to grin again at the sight of that huge man crawling around on hands and knees. A kick to the side caused a loud shriek as he ended up on his back, arms and legs flailing like a helpless bug.

About an hour later, Almar’s laughter turned into outraged shock when the King decided he should prove his talent first by being his brother’s squire. He knew refusing would have ended his chance of ever working for the King, so he swallowed his wounded pride and walked out with a flushed face and a lump of fury in his throat.

With his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched down, and his feet kicking up dirt, he made his way towards the stables where he was supposed to find the brother.

Almar frowned when he saw Elias without armor for the first time. Loose hanging brown and beige clothes fell unflattering across his big frame. He had weird looking intense curls on his head; their color a dirty brown blond, turning grey in places. He wore a mustache that had been fashionable maybe six Kings before. It was badly hiding an ugly cleft lip and he shuddered at the sight. Adding the missing eyebrows and a plumb round nose, Almar had never seen a more ugly man and he pulled a face.

The man was currently struggling to get out of his boots, jumping on one leg, while gripping the other boot with both hands. Almar stopped and waited and it took exactly two seconds before the idiot predictably lost his balance and crashed into the stable wall, shocking the horses and a cat that had been slumbering in the hay.

With a heavy and resigned sigh, Almar made his way over to help. He knelt down and wordlessly started to untie his boots.

“What are you doing, I do not need your help. I can get out of my boots, as I always do. I always do it just fine, I was just startled with you standing there suddenly.” Almar ignored the hands flapping at him and just continued to work until Elias stilled.

“Who are you?” he demanded when he finally got up sans boots. There were holes in his socks.

Almar looked up at the man who suddenly towered over him. He barely reached to his chest and he felt very, very small for a second. It infuriated him.

“I’m your new squire. The King said so,” he groused and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Elias’ eyes went big and he started to fidget.

“I don’t need no squire. I have squires. Lots of them. They all want to work for me, yes.” And with that he turned around, grabbed some rags from the nearby table and almost ran out of the barn.

Almar snorted in disbelief.

“Fine! I’ll be here for your next battle anyway!” He shouted after the stupid idiot.

Those were the last words he said to the giant for weeks. He appeared in time for the fights and even travelled with Elias to different villages to help him into his armor and hand him his sword, but he kept silent, his anger still festering in his chest.

The first few times Elias still put up resistance, insisting that he didn’t need help at all. Soon though, his protests died down. He started to change the way he talked to Almar, not that that was any sort of improvement.

“That’s good. Very good. Almost as good as I could do it. You are not as useless as I thought you would be.”

Almar frowned. Elias really needed to work on his motivational speech. With a sigh, he stretched up to push the helmet with the ridiculous bull horns over his head more roughly than he probably needed to be. 

Elias scrunched his nose. “Ow. What was that for?!” He tried to rub his head but his helmet was in the way.

Almar groaned silently and pushed the man out of the tent. He took a deep breath before he slowly followed Elias outside. The man was still limping from his last fight and he wondered why the untalented idiot even bothered with it. He was the laughing stock of the entire province by now. He had lost every single one of the fights he’d fought since Almar had joined him. His movements were wrong and clumsy and awkward and it always looked as if he didn’t know how to control his body, not to mention the horrible handling of his sword.

When Elias walked into the arena the crowd whistled and cheered, but it was mocking and hurtful and Almar felt an uneasy twinge in his chest. Elias wasn’t dumb as much as Almar wanted to believe it. He was insecure and tried to hide it behind his big mouth and over the top gestures. He might have not answered any of Elias’ ramblings and boastings, but he listened and he watched.

He watched Elias getting beaten to the ground in the most humiliating way _again_ and with a heavy sigh, he followed him back into their tent barely ten minutes after they had arrived, the crowing of the masses still in his ears. Why did God hate him so much that he had to endure this existence of endlessly following a knight who never won and watching his failures like a never ending loop of horrors?

When he entered their small tent, Elias sat on a small wooden bench, helmet in his hands, head hanging low and tears streaming down his face. Almar deflated and all his anger vanished.

“Come on,” he murmured and started to undo clasps and bindings to take Elias’ breastplate off. He moved Elias as he needed to take off the rest of his armor.

Elias didn’t even defend his tears with an insect having flown into his eyes or complained about him being too rough, which showed him how much this time must have hurt, emotionally and physically.

They worked in silence until Elias stood in nothing but a thin brown shirt and underpants, his eyes still read and his nose running, mustache glistening.

“I could have beaten him. I was very close. A fly flew into my face and distracted me. It was quite annoying.” His voice was wavering in the most heartbreaking way.

Almar made a soft noise which could have been agreement as he took the beaten and dented metal pieces and started to polish them with a soft rag. The tent was one of the smaller ones and there wasn’t much room for privacy, so for the first time he saw Elias as he undressed and washed the sweat off his body. His thoughts came to a screeching halt as he stared.

He swallowed hard at the reveal of the broad planes of a muscled back, long and lean legs and a firm behind. He hadn’t expected Elias to be so fit and well trained under his baggy garments and with the way he moved in a fight. He looked _strong,_ tanned skin stretched over sinews and well developed muscles. Horrible heat spread through his body as Almar felt the urge to touch, to place his hands on that skin.

And then, with shock, he noticed the endless bruises on his huge body.

He frowned. Not all of the bruises looked like ones received during the battles. Some of them were more like long lines of pinched skin where pressure had been applied for too long at a time. Almar almost groaned in exasperation when things finally clicked into place and made sense. He should have seen it right away, really. His anger had made him blind.

Elias’ armor didn’t fit. The bruises showed where metal pressed against skin and bones when he moved. It was no wonder he looked clumsy and stiff when he fought. He couldn’t move as he needed to.

Elias turned around suddenly, staring at him accusingly. “It’s rude to stare, you know? Quite rude. You should concentrate on your work of cleaning my armor and sword.”

Almar lowered his head to hide his heated face behind his long curls. Elias was… well endowed indeed.

“Apologies,” he murmured.

Elias seemed to be unsure how to reply, probably surprised to have Almar talk to him twice in one day. Then he realized that he was still stark naked and urgently put on a tunic, grabbed a towel from the table, and left the tent in a hurry.

Almar shook his head to clear his thoughts and finished his work. Soon after, they were on their way back to the castle.

He watched closely in the next fight and what he saw confirmed his suspicions. Every clumsy movement was obviously caused by constrictions through the too small and painful placements of the armor plates. It was no wonder Elias didn’t manage to lift his arms quickly when there were sharp edges of the armor digging into his joints.

Almar was furious with himself for having missed it and for mocking something that Elias had no power over. He was also angry with the King for allowing his own brother to fight in such abysmally fitted armor.

“Your armor is horrible, I’m gonna forge you a new one,” he declared later as he pulled off Elias’ metal gloves.

The man seemed taken aback.

“There is nothing wrong with it, why would you say something like that?” He demanded.

Almar looked up with a huff. He glared at Elias and realized that his eyes were a deep and intense brown. Soft and radiant. He had never paid attention to them and for a moment, he forgot what he wanted to say.

“I am a blacksmith. I know armor. Yours is too small and not good for you.”

“You’re just a boy. You don’t know a thing.” Elias crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, a deep frown between his eyes. Almar stood up outraged and looked down into Elias’ face, eyes burning, willing the man to understand.

“I am fifteen years old and I have learned the art of wielding metal since I was six. I am the best blacksmith you can find out there and I am telling you, your armor is bad. Look at these bruises,” he waved a hand at a dark stripe of bloodshed skin across Elias’ bony knee. “This is not good and I can make you one that would help you win fights.”

That seemed to get through.

“You think I could win fights with yours? Not that I couldn’t win fights with this one, I just-”

Almar had enough and he interrupted Elias with a scoff.

“If you say one more time that a fly was at fault, I will walk out right now and leave you with your awful armor and you will lose every single fight you ever participate in.” He crossed his arms and they stared at each other for what felt an eternity.

Elias finally sagged, his tall form deflating, tears in his eyes. He didn’t say anything but Almar took it as a victory anyway.

“I’ll need your measurements. I will make you something strong and sturdy.” Almar said softly. He sized Elias up with his eyes, imagining what he needed and what might be the best for Elias and the way he fought.

“You are strong. Stronger than all the others. You’re too big to count on agility and speed,” he mused.

Elias straightened, puffing his chest out in outrage. “I am very fast. The fastest! You must be blind to not see it!”

“Mmmh.” Almar wasn’t really listening, completely immersed in the calculations and instruments he needed for the metal.

As soon as they were back in the castle and their own stables, Elias demanded to have a workshop ready for Almar’s use only and he got all the materials he needed. Almar watched with wide eyes as Elias hunted down every person he needed, even going so far as hitting one especially stubborn wood provider with a rolling pin he got out of the kitchens.

When he lead Almar to the forge that would be his alone to use, with a proud smile and eager eyes, Almar felt a sudden strange sort of fondness for this giant who seemed so crass and loud at first, but so caring and gentle once you got to know him. Now more than ever, he wanted to make him the best sword and armor. He wanted Elias to win his fights and to be known as something other than the idiot brother of the King.

The first thing he did was forge him a bigger sword; one to be held by two hands.

Elias came by every day to sit on a wooden chair in the corner and watch him work. Almar had ordered him there after he’d been hovering behind his back, constantly getting in the way of his hammer, and almost setting his clothes on fire when he stepped to close to the hearth. He’d realized that Elias was trying to help in his way, so he used him to get more water or firewood and otherwise ignored his attempts at lecturing him in sword forgery with a roll of his eyes.

He knew the motive behind the words was more important than the words themselves.  Elias was lonely. He was looking for company and now that Almar wasn’t outright hostile anymore, it seemed the only place he could go. It made him sad and he patiently explained to Elias every step he did until he finally pressed his new sword into those big hands.

The bone crushing hug he received in thanks was a surprise, but Almar returned it with a smile. Elias was huge, wrapping his arms around his small frame and pressing his face against his broad chest. He smelled like hay, metal and sweat and, mortified, Almar could feel his body react to the incredible warmth of that firm body against his.

His face flushed in a bright red and he cursed his juvenile body.

Elias stepped back as suddenly as the hug had begun and excused himself with wide eyes and a flush high on his cheeks. Almar looked after him in shock as he stormed out of the barn, sword still clutched in his hands.

With a shake of his head, Almar turned back to his work table and started his calculations for the armor. He would need to see Elias’ natural movements without any kind of armor to see how his body worked.

Once Elias returned from wherever he had ran away to, Almar pushed him towards a small square of grass behind the smithery and told him to practice with the new sword. Over the course of several days he prodded, poked, and measured Elias’ body, sometimes stopping him mid-swing to check curves and angles of arms and legs. Elias complained all the way through, calling him stupid and dumb, but moving wherever and however Almar needed him to.

All through, Almar taught Elias how to handle his new sword, which in itself was a challenge because Elias insisted he had no idea how a knight fought. “You’re nothing more than a kitten, way too weak and small to handle a big and heavy sword in a fight.”

It took several weeks but finally Elias stood before him in his full protective armor, metal gleaming in a dark sleek gray. He looked impressive and with a satisfied smile he reached up to place his helmet over Elias’ wild curls. Between his large ridiculous bull horns, the brilliant red coxcomb shone in the bright sunlight. He finally looked like a real knight.

He still lost his first fight.

Almar lifted the helmet off the slumped form of his giant once he had collapsed in their tent.

“You did it all wrong, Kitten! The armor doesn’t help at all. Everything was for nothing.” He sniffled with a wobbly voice.

“Elias. Look at me!” he demanded, wiping big tears from his dusty cheeks.

Moist eyes swiveled up to him.

“Do you know how long the fight lasted?” he asked with heat in his voice. He waited until Elias shook his head while wiping his nose.

“It took almost half an hour. You managed to keep him at bay so much longer than before and he was desperate by the end. Nobody was laughing at you anymore because you were _good._ How are you feeling? Bruises? Aches?”

Elias’ eyes had gone wide, tears still glistening, and he shook his head again in wonder. He looked down at himself and tested his arms and legs, obviously only now noticing the absence of his usual injuries.

“You need some practice, but I know you will win a fight soon. I promise you.” Almar’s voice was firm and sure and he spoke with deep conviction. After seeing how much better Elias did today than ever before, it would be only a matter of time.

The first time Elias stood over an opponent in victory, Almar stormed onto the field amid the stunned silence and threw himself into Elias’ arms, his laugh bright and clear.

They celebrated with a heartily meal and lots of rich beer provided by the King’s kitchen and Almar’s heart swelled with affection for the boasting knight.

After that, Elias won fight after fight and soon the audience for his battles tripled. Everyone wanted to see the miracle that had happened with the King’s brother. _The King’s Bull_ was what they chanted on the sidelines.

After several more weeks, they got a visitor in their small tent. Almar was in the process of untying the arm protectors when the door flap was pushed back and someone entered. The clothes spoke of nobility.

Almar fiddled with an annoying clasp, crooked after being hit so hard, and hadn’t really paid attention.

“The King wants to speak to you,” a nasal and haughty voice droned.

Elias suddenly turned away, ripping the clasp painfully from Almar’s fingers.

“My brother?”

He sounded elated and while Almar sucked at his throbbing finger, he stormed out, armor half undone and metal clinking against metal in a comical mix of sounds.

A moment later, Almar stood alone in their empty and quiet forgery, not really knowing what had happened. He decided to be happy for Elias, who finally managed to get the attention of his brother he so craved. He hoped it would be a good thing.

He had his first doubts when he spent the evening alone instead of having food and drinks with Elias and his crazy stories about the miraculous things he’d already accomplished in his life, including fighting a bull to death with his bare hands.

The next evening, things seemed to be back to normal. Elias visited him in his work shop and Almar listened patiently to Elias praising his brother. He was happy so Almar swallowed his jealousy. Things would go back to the way they were before, he was sure.

Only, Elias kept winning his fights in more and more spectacular ways.

In the following weeks, people started to gather around Elias and he constantly had an entourage of admirers following him. They rarely managed to spend time together without someone interrupting them and even during the moments where Almar put him into his armor, someone was almost always there to gush over Elias within moments.

Elias took to it like a flower to water after a long draught. He preened and paraded around, chest puffed out, head high. He soaked in all the praise and wonder and his new title as the King’s Bull seemed to fuel his confidence indefinitely. He barely spent time with Almar now, always excusing himself to meet with Counts and Dukes or the King at big dinners and celebrations.

Almar was sure all those people simply wanted to get closer to the King now that Elias had regular audiences and practiced with him, and he felt the bitterness and sadness like a heavy weight in his stomach. He had tried to tell Elias that those people were only using him and none of them were his friends, but Elias would have none of that.

“You’re just jealous because I have so many friends who love me. I had lots of friends before of course, but they were all busy all the time and now they come to see me fight,” he groused and pushed over a mug of water on the table in petulance before he stomped out.

“Fine,” he spat into the empty space, his heart hurting.

He was just a lowly squire and blacksmith while Elias was the King’s brother. They weren’t friends. They never were. Almar wiped his eyes to stop the tears from falling. He was stupid for expecting anything else, really.

He kept his hands busy with cleaning his work place and polishing Elias’ armor, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how alone he suddenly felt. He hadn’t realized how few contacts he had made in the town, but now that Elias wasn’t there to distract him, it occurred to him that he didn’t know anyone else besides some of the delivery boys.

It made him even angrier over his foolishness.

Elias returned the next day as if nothing had happened, but Almar had resolutely shut his heart away and refused to let himself be lured again. He kept silent, but Elias didn’t seem to notice. He kept talking and talking, gesturing wildly about something to someone standing around. Almar didn’t listen.

Elias caught on his mood a few days later, but didn’t seem to know what to do about it. With so many peasants taking up his time there wasn’t much he _could_ do and Almar was glad about it. Being in Elias’ presence was like a thorn in his heart and the less he saw of him the better.

A week later, there was another sword fight competition in the castle. It was known as The King’s Tournament and drew competitors from all over the country. Elias would get some serious and strong opponents in this one. Almar had to force himself not to leave right then and run away, because even if Elias needed him for nothing more than to get into his armor; he couldn’t leave without warning, not right before an important duel.

Almar worked with numb fingers, Elias’ enthusiastic voice in his ear, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to face this again. He would leave as soon as they were back in the castle.

Someone next to them asked a question and suddenly he felt one of Elias’ big and warm hands on his shoulder. “That’s Almar. My very good squire and we’re friends. He’s a good friend.”

Almar flinched away and stared up to Elias with wide eyes. He didn’t even look back, eyes locked on the stranger next to them.

“We’re not friends,” he muttered as he stepped closer to finish the breast plate. “I’m just your squire.”

Elias went still and quiet after that, as if it finally sank into his thick skull that things were not alright. Almar could feel his broad chest hitch under his hands and he knew Elias would be close to crying right now. It tore his heart apart and his chest hurt, but he knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

Once he was done, he stepped back and watched as Elias started walking towards the arena. After a few moments, when he realized that Almar wasn’t following, he turned around.

"You won't watch the duel this time will you..?" There were tears in his eyes and running down his cheeks and Almar hated him in this moment.

“No…” He shook his head, curls falling into his eyes as he fought with his own tears.

Elias nodded and with a sniff, he turned his back to Almar and continued on his way. It felt like a final goodbye and he almost changed his mind, almost ran after him.

Almar went back to his forge and sat down on the wooden bench in the far back next to the dark and cold hearth, leaning against the rough wall and trying to breathe through the pain in his chest. The pressure seemed to suffocate him, what felt like eternity passing as he accepted goodbye, until he managed to take his first deep breath again.

He could do it. He would find another town. They needed blacksmiths everywhere. Swords, armor, or maybe just horse shoes, he could do everything that was asked of him.

Almar put his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. His eyes were burning with unshed tears. He could live without Elias. He knew he could. It would be easy. Elias was so annoying. Always bragging. Always exaggerating and lying. He would be better off without him.

When a servant barged into the quiet room, Almar jumped in shock. He looked scared and Almar immediately felt his stomach constrict into painful knots.

"The King’s Bull is dying! He has been defeated!"

For a moment the words didn’t make any sort of sense to him and then he felt his heart stop in his chest after giving a painful thud. Almar jumped up and ran out of the forge as fast as he could, his mind chanting _No nonono nono_ in a string of panicking sounds.

His lungs burned when he finally followed the masses of people to a tent next to the field.

He barged through the entrance and found Elias on a low bench still wearing his armor. There was blood welling from under his breastplate, dripping to the ground in sluggish waves.

Almar paled in shock. “Elias,” he whispered hoarsely.

He pushed someone out of the way to stumble close to the bed. He felt numb. They had taken off his helmet and he was so very pale and still and Almar felt a sob stuck painfully in his throat.

He fell to his knees next to the big man and with utmost care, he unclasped the breastplate and lifted it off his chest. His horror at the terrible wound in Elias’ side was replaced by relief when he saw the shallow movement of his broad chest.

Breathing.

He was alive.

A healer shoved him over roughly to take care of the wound and all Almar could do was to stare helplessly as they tried to close the terrible gash. There was a small lake of blood under the bed now and Almar tried to ignore it as his hands twisted in his sleeves.

The evening came and darkness crawled into the tent. A fire and torches were lit, bathing the small space in flickering orange light. Almar didn’t move an inch for hours, legs locked stiff in terror.

After what felt like an eternity, the healer stepped back. His hands were covered in blood and his face was grey and dire.

"I’m sorry, young blacksmith. But the King’s brother won't last the night. He has lost too much blood."

Almar swallowed hard and then he took two steps out of the tent, fell to his knees, and threw up acid and bile into the grass, stomach heaving in painful cramps. His mouth burned and he gagged at the taste.

Tears ran down his face as he tried to catch his breath between desperate sobs, fingers clenched in the cold dirt as he knelt there, his body hurting everywhere.

He wiped his face and mouth with angry jerky movements after a few moments and staggered to his feet. Elias was still alive. He would make it. He was strong and way too stubborn to die before he could berate Almar over that horrible armor he‘d made. With wobbly knees, he made his way back to Elias’ side. He started to remove the rest of his armor with careful hands, trying not to jostle the still form. His mind was filled with a white painful noise that prevented all clear thoughts.

Afterwards, Almar took Elias’ fingers, clinging to them with both of his small hands in a desperate attempt to warm them up, to chase the clammy coolness away. He pressed his mouth to the still palm and closed his eyes, prayers on his lips.

Almar hadn’t been to a church in a very long time and he had never felt particularly drawn to God, but now his thoughts sent out prayer after prayer, begging the God Almighty in Heaven to save his friend and not take him away.

He lost any sense of the passing time as he knelt there, murmuring soft words to Elias, telling him stories of his childhood, the dog he once had before his master had chased him away. Tears continuously flowed down his flushed cheeks, his knees aching.

A sudden commotion outside snapped him out of his trance and a moment later the entrance to the tent parted and revealed the King. Almar had never seen him without his armor and he was surprised at how small and unimpressive he looked in only his red velvet suit. He tried to look imposing with the way he dramatically held open the tent, but he fell short by a few miles.

He stalked in and positioned himself next to where Almar knelt with Elias’ hand pressed against his damp cheek and looked down at the two of them. His gaze dismissed him immediately and landed on Elias’ limp form.

“He will get his place in the family mausoleum. Prepare the burial for the morning,” he finally said and Almar’s heart was pierced by a sharp pain.

“NO!” he shouted and jumped up, eyes wide.

The King who’d been in the process of turning around to leave, froze and looked at him with a frown.

“What did you just say?” He sounded shocked. As if he wasn’t used to people raising his voice against him. Which was probably true. One of the King’s entourage stepped closer, ready to grab Almar if it was needed.

“He is not dead yet!” he shouted. His voice broke over the _yet_ but he refused to back down. He stepped closer to the King, still tightly holding onto Elias’ fingers.

"Do not talk to your King that way. He is my brother and you're nothing to h…,”

"HE IS MY FRIEND AND HE IS NOT DEAD!"

“That is enough! Gone with him!” The King gestured wildly and Almar felt himself be gripped hard. Elias’ fingers slipped out of his hand as he was dragged out of the tent, furiously fighting, kicking and hitting and biting. One of the guards screamed when Almar managed to catch flesh between his teeth. He tasted blood.

More hands appeared, gripping him painfully tight to drag him forcefully along. Everything was just a dark and blurry scuffle and Almar felt as if the world came crashing down around him. When they shoved him into his dark and cold forgery to get some of his possessions, he ended up on his knees before a kick to his side made him scramble to grab his few belongings.

It didn’t take long before the heavy sound of the castle’s gate falling shut behind him with a final bang sounded through the dark night. The following silence was deafening and pounded in his ears along with his frantic heartbeat.

A violent sob broke out of his throat.

Elias was dying and he would be alone in the last moments of his life. Almar felt his heart break all over again. With tears streaming down his face, he slowly walked into the night, feet heavy and his bundle dragging over the ground.

 

****

Almar took on every job he could find and after seeing his work, most blacksmiths offered  him a permanent place with joy. He never managed to stay for long though; his heart too heavy and his mind too restless. It took months for him to feel a smile grace his lips again as he watched a young puppy discover the ruthlessness of a barn cat for the first time. He left that forgery a day after.

The first winter was hard. The darkness of the world pressed down on him, while he watched with dispassion how the people around him lived their lives. Hunger was often a constant companion while he travelled from one place to the next but he found it hard to care.

Even after all this time, he couldn’t explain why the loss of Elias and his life in the castle weighed so hard on his mind. The grief seemed to have infested his mind and the way out was a maze he couldn’t conquer. Never before had another person touched his heart in such a manner. He finally saw the truth when he witnessed a young woman kiss her husband behind a barn. The man looked so similar to Elias that it stole his breath for a moment. He wondered what Elias’ mustache would feel like against his lips and his heart gave a painful thud as his feelings at last made sense to him.

Almar spent the next few days hiding away in his room, refusing to come out as he wallowed in self pity and flaring grief.

The second year became easier. He now had a faithful companion at his side who accompanied him on his travels from one town to the next. He’d thought about naming the mutt “Elias” but he decided he wasn’t ready for that quite yet.

He’d left the Kingdom of Gabriel behind long ago, still travelling from one place to the next, so it came as a surprise when Almar saw troops with the all too familiar banners camping outside the town he currently worked in. Seeing the bright colors of his previous home was hard.

His old blacksmith appeared next to him.

“They lookin’ for young blacksmiths. Been to t’forgery earlier. Might want to stay low til their gone.”

Almar nodded and turned around, walking away along the narrow cobble streets between low crooked houses. He really didn’t want to know what the Kingdom of Gabriel wanted with young blacksmiths. He was done with the King for good.

The sounds of metal warned him too late. He was grabbed by gloved hands and with a blink of an eye he was back to that horrible night when he got expelled from the castle grounds. A scream tore out of his throat and he started kicking and writhing in desperation, his mind a loud buzzing of panic. He remembered the taste of blood on his tongue and blindly, he snapped at anything that came close to his face.

He heard a grunt and a scream and knew he hit some of his targets as he got dragged along the streets.

He had no idea how long it lasted, but at some point his body was exhausted and his mind cleared. He went limp with a groan. They dragged him along for a few more minutes, but he had no urge to see where they went. He stared at the dirty ground with tears in his eyes.

He was in a small camp between tents and fireplaces when they finally dropped him. He fell to his knees and rubbed his aching arms.

“This little shit bit my hand!” a loud voice hissed next to him and Almar flinched, fearing another hit.

“Oh yes, the kitten does that when he is agitated.”

Almar froze.

That voice. It couldn’t be.

A shudder rolled through his body from head to toe as the hairs at the back of his neck rose and his skin prickled with shock.

He looked up from where he knelt, eyes wide.

“ELIAS!” he shouted and jumped up on his feet. His knees were wobbly and for a moment he was afraid he would just fall down again and then he’d wake up from this dream.

Someone next to Elias’ specter stepped forward. “Hey now you bastard, you are talking to the King’s brother, so you shut…” A heavy hit from Elias put an end to his outrage. Almar looked with an open mouth at the limp form on the ground where the soldier had dropped.

“Almar...,” the hesitant voice pulled his eyes up to the man. Almar still couldn’t believe it. Elias was dead, wasn’t he? They’d said he wouldn’t make it. He’d lost so much blood…

His mind was a fuzzy turmoil and he stood there as his blood rushed through his ears in thundering waves.

The man stepped closer and closer and Almar stared and waited for whatever would happen now, knees weak and legs shaky.

The hug he received was bone crushing and robbed his breath and he finally realized that this was really Elias. _His_ Elias. With a sob, he tightened his hold until his arms ached as if he would never let go again.

"I've been looking for you for so long..."

Almar leaned back to look into Elias’ face at that confession. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and his mustache was twitching. Almar’s heart was racing in his chest as he looked into those soft brown eyes that were so full of yearning and joy.

"And you've found me. Friend…," His voice broke, but he didn’t care. The smile spreading over Elias’ face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He was finally home.

**4 months later**

Almar relaxed into the bedding with a relieved sigh. It had been a hard and long day and his body ached everywhere. Stretching out on his stomach, he wrapped his arms around the pillow and buried his face in the soft fabric with a satisfied groan. Almar still wasn’t entirely used to the comforts it brought to be the best friend of someone from the royal family. Everything was so much more comfortable and soft and <i>better</i>.

He took a deep breath and smiled when Elias’ scent filled his lungs. This was comfort, too.

Almar shifted his head and looked through the room. The fire in the hearth was almost gone, leaving a pile of brightly glowing embers. In addition to the candles burning on his bedside table, the room was filled with the softest light, soaking everything in a warm and gentle orange.

Almar couldn’t help his stupid smile as he considered how lucky he was, how happy. His eyes dropped shut as the exhaustion finally caught up with him and he sank into a deep sleep.

He jerked awake with a groan from a loud crash outside of the room. Almar blinked into the still burning candles. He couldn’t have been out for long.

Another crash and a loud annoyed voice told him what he needed to know. Elias was back from the King’s banquet and probably stumbled over something in the front room. The commotion lasted for another minute before everything went quiet and the door to the room opened with the softest click.

Almar smiled. Elias could be unbelievably considerate when he wanted to be. The thought that his racket might have woken him up already didn’t register as long as he tried to be quiet in the room itself. He was so adorable and Almar’s heart swelled with affection.

It had taken him the better part of the last four months to convince Elias that he not only was his friend, but wanted to be <i>more</i> than his friend. It was fortunate that Elias wasn’t much of a humble or religious christian, and that the thought of an invisible man in the clouds looking over their lives was ridiculous to him. Almar had grown up almost entirely alone and nobody had ever thought about taking him to church. He’d taught himself to read and had tried to work his way through the Bible when he’d gotten his hands on one of the rare books, but he had given up quickly.

So, there was nothing in their life that would make them feel bad about sharing a room and also their bed once Almar had convinced Elias that yes, he was serious, and no, he wouldn’t bite, because he was no kitten _damnit._

The door closed with just as a quiet sound and Almar could hear the soft tiptoeing as Elias made his way over the stone floor to their bed. He didn’t move, pretending to sleep, as he waited to see what Elias would do. Sometimes his insecurities got the better of him, but tonight he seemed full of courage. He could feel the moment Elias set his hands and knees on their bed and started to crawl up to him. His courage seemed to leave him there though, because instead of snuggling up to him, he laid down on the other side of the bed, leaving an unacceptable large space between them.

Almar turned his head and blinked against the candle light with tired eyes. Elias was lying on his back under the covers, only his shoulders and parts of his chest visible. His chest hair sparked in the weak light and his skin was covered in goosebumps as the cool air in the castle made itself known. His curly hair framed his head like a halo and his eyes were scrunched shut, probably hoping Almar would think him asleep.

He swallowed his fond snort, knowing Elias would most likely feel laughed at.

“Elias,” he murmured softly, the sleepiness making his tongue heavy.

Elias shook his head without opening his eyes. There was a tear glistening on his cheek. That woke Almar up. Elias would often come back from meetings with the King in a bad mood as Gabriel didn’t stop others from treating Elias badly, pretending he didn’t see it as it might look bad for the King to scold other nobles over something so minor.

With determination, he unburied his hand from under the pillow and reached for the big bull on his side. He gripped his wrist tightly under the blankets and pulled. Elias went without resistance, turning to his side and following Almar’s lead until he was lying half on top of Almar’s small frame, almost burying him with his heavy weight, the covers blanketing them both.

Elias froze on top of him, body stiff and terrified.

“Relax, Elias. I’m not gonna bite,” he murmured soothingly. He felt the drop of a tear land on his shoulder and make its way down his arm.

It took another few moments before Elias finally relaxed, his big body melting against Almar in all the best ways. Elias’ hairy chest was covering his back fully, one of his arms sneaking around his chest, warm palm over his heart, to press them even closer together, while the other hand was placed on his shoulder in the most gentle gesture.

A kiss was pressed to his back, mustache a tickling scratch Almar loved so. “You’re such a kitten,” was pressed into his skin by moist lips.

He could feel Elias’ heartbeat calm down against his back and with the tension running out of Elias, he felt his own tiredness come back tenfold. With a low hum, he wriggled further into Elias’ body. They probably wouldn’t talk about what had happened at the banquet because under the strong influence of happiness, Elias usually quickly forgot what had upset him.

That was fine with Almar, because Elias deserved as much happiness as he could get and he would do his utmost to give it to him, just as Elias did everything to make Almar happy. With a contented sigh, he fell asleep with the comfortable heat of Elias on top of him and the smell of rich food and wine in his nose.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find Camille on [twitter](https://twitter.com/CamilleCailloux) and [tumblr](http://flyingrotten.tumblr.com) and the #BabyBullFest has its own tumblr [here](http://elias21babybull.tumblr.com)!
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> ART BY CAMILLE. DO NOT REPOST. ALWAYS CREDIT AND LINK TO HER WHEN USING. DO NOT BE RUDE.


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